


We Need to Talk About Morgana

by schweet_heart



Series: Merlin Fic [103]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Corporate, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awesome Morgana, Awkward Conversations, Best Friends, Betrayal, Corporate Espionage, Crimes & Criminals, Emotional Manipulation, False Accusations, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Helpful Gwaine, Ill-Advised Rebound Sex, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Infidelity, Investigations, M/M, Manipulation, Mutual Pining, Mystery, Oblivious Merlin, Pining Arthur, Secrets, Stalking, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, White Collar Crime, Whodunnit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-03-12 01:17:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13536582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart
Summary: Morgana can't resist the chance to interfere. Merlin would rather be left alone. And Arthur – well, Arthur doesn't know if he's making things better or worse, but it's not for lack of trying.Sequel toWe Need to Talk About Arthurand Part 3 of theWe Need to Talkseries.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Camelot Drabble Prompt #298: Cure.

 

Arthur has never been one of those people who hates his job. Sure, sometimes he wishes he hadn’t accepted Uther’s offer right out of university, but that has less to do with the work and more to do with his relationship with is father. Unlike some people—by which he means Gwaine—he may not have an impressive title or a fancy car, but he _is_ good at what he does, and for the most part he enjoys it.  
  
At least, he used to. Lately, it’s been feeling like a bit of a chore.  
  
It's been almost two weeks since Merlin had taken an enforced leave of absence, and Arthur has hardly seen or heard from him since. In theory, he should be back as soon as the internal investigation is over, but in practice these things have been known to drag on for months, and there’s no guarantee he’ll still have a job at the end of it. Uther has already been threatening to bring him up on charges, and it’s been all Arthur and Morgana can do to get him to wait until he has actual proof that Merlin was involved.  
  
“He just doesn’t want to listen!” Morgana storms angrily, bursting into Arthur’s office unannounced for the third time in as many days. “You have to talk to him, Arthur. God knows I can’t get him to see sense.”  
  
“I _have_ talked to him,” Arthur says. Unlike his sister, he takes no pleasure in flogging a dead horse. “At this point, we have to accept that he’s made up his mind and let the investigators do their job.”  
  
Morgana narrows her eyes at him. “And how long is that going to take, exactly?” she says sweetly, leaning over his desk. “Long enough for Merlin to forget what we look like? Long enough for your desk to become—” she gives a theatrical shudder, “—actually _clean_?”  
  
Arthur grimaces. His temporary assistant, George, is the complete opposite of Merlin in many respects; he and Arthur have been waging a silent war over his desk for the last ten days. “It will take as long as it takes,” he says finally. “If we try to meddle, it’ll only look like we’re hiding something.”  
  
“Who cares, if we can help Merlin?” Morgana says, scowling. “It’s not like Father will fire us; the least we can do is help the poor boy.”  
  
Arthur sighs. Truth be told, he’s as worried about Merlin as Morgana is—probably more so, although he’s not about to admit it. He still gets the occasional response to his texts, so at least he knows Merlin is still alive, but aside from that Merlin has turned into a full-on recluse. Any and all requests to visit him at his flat or invite him round to Arthur’s have been completely ignored, and Arthur is no longer sure enough of his welcome to just turn up uninvited. He misses Merlin, though, and if he had thought that a period of separation might help to cure him of his feelings for the man...well, he now stands corrected. It seems only to have made things worse.  
  
“We can’t help Merlin by acting rashly,” he says, even though part of him wants to do just that. “We know he’s done nothing wrong.”  
  
“Yes, but Father doesn’t,” Morgana mutters darkly. “And you know what he’s like.”  
  
Unfortunately, Arthur _does_ know what Uther is like, and after she leaves he spends several minutes staring blankly at his computer screen, contemplating exactly what that could mean for Merlin. Nothing good, that much is certain. Then, ignoring George, who is currently re-alphabetising the filing cabinet with a dirty look on his face, Arthur thumbs through his contacts and dials the last number he swore he’d ever use.  
  
Twenty minutes later, Arthur is sitting across from Gwaine Greene in a garishly decorated cafe, staring at a mug shaped like a fluffy little lamb. It would be perfectly innocent, save for the handle coming out of its arse.  
  
“Is this really necessary?” he asks, poking at it.  
  
“You’re the one who wanted to see me,” Gwaine reminds him, smirking. “No one forced you to ask for my help—”  
  
“Yes, fine.” Arthur scowls. “But you have to swear to treat this conversation as confidential.”  
  
“On my mother’s grave,” Gwaine vows solemnly, crossing his heart. Arthur eyes him warily, but after a moment he begins to talk, giving Gwaine a concise run-down of the events of the past few weeks, starting with Merlin’s break-up with Edwin and ending with the discovery that someone has been slipping information to Cenred’s company.  
  
When he’s finished, Gwaine lets out a low whistle. “No wonder Merlin hasn’t been taking my calls,” he says, which makes Arthur feel a little better. “No offence, Pendragon, but your father is a douche. Does he at least have proof that Merlin’s the one who’s been leaking those files?”  
  
“Not as such.” Arthur sighs. “Our system logs user IDs when they remotely access our server, but since several people were granted access to those files, there's no way to tell which one has been sharing information illegally.”  
  
“You’ll want to look into beefing up security, then,” Gwaine comments, and Arthur grumbles his agreement. The two of them sit in silence for a moment, until Gwaine leans back, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “So, I might have an idea,” he says slowly. “But I don’t think you’re going to like it.”  
  
Arthur takes a moment to weigh his dislike of Gwaine against his—well. _Lack_ of dislike for Merlin. “Try me.”  
  
“Well…” Gwaine lowers his voice, glancing around the coffee shop like an extra in a cheesy police procedural, and Arthur refrains from rolling his eyes with an effort. “The problem is that you don’t know who the real rat is, right?”  
  
“The problem is, my father is convinced it’s Merlin,” Arthur corrects, but Gwaine waves this aside as unnecessary detail.  
  
“What if you give them something you know they’re going to want to steal? Information about an upcoming business deal—something that could make or break the company?”  
  
“What would that accomplish?” Arthur asks, frowning. “Aside from getting me fired, too.”  
  
Gwaine rolls his eyes. “You won’t give them any _real_ information, Princess—just a lie juicy enough that they won’t be able to resist. Give each rat a slightly different story, then wait to see which one of them squeaks. At which point, _voila_. Proof for your father that it wasn’t Merlin.”  
  
Arthur chews on his lower lip. It’s a solid plan; it could work, and even if it doesn’t he can see no harm in trying. “It would have to be convincing,” he says, although he already knows what Morgana would say to the idea. “They’d have to think they have something important.”  
  
“So we find a way to give them something important,” Gwaine says, his face lighting up with a devious grin. “In fact, I think I know just the guy.”  
  
“This won’t involve any more vaguely obscene ceramics, will it?” Arthur asks, eyeing his coffee cup dubiously.  
  
Gwaine blows air kisses at him across the table. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for CD Prompt #325: Donate a Prompt Week.

 

Arthur doesn’t hear from Gwaine again for a few days, which is long enough for him to start second-guessing the wisdom of his plan. Whatever had possessed him to go to _Gwaine_ for help? Quite apart from being Merlin’s latest fling, and therefore Arthur’s least favourite person by default, Gwaine is—there’s no help for it—a bit of an ass. Chances are he’s forgotten all about his promise to help and is even now swanning around, flipping his stupid hair and looking dashing as he closes another multi-million dollar lawsuit with casual aplomb.  
  
On Friday morning, however, Arthur wakes up to a text on his phone from an unknown number.  
  
MEET ME @ BARNEY’S 2NITE. 8PM. DON’T DRESS LIKE A DICK. — G  
  
Arthur isn’t sure he remembers giving Gwaine his number, and he certainly doesn’t recall asking for his opinion on his sartorial choices—and what exactly _is_ wrong with the way he’s dressed, he’d like to know?—but he can’t help the surge of ridiculous excitement the message stirs up in his gut. From the sounds of it, Gwaine has been able to get in touch with the guy he mentioned, which means that tonight could be their first step on the road to clearing Merlin’s name. And the sooner they can do that, the sooner Merlin will be back in the office with Arthur where he belongs.  
  
That evening, Arthur dutifully forgoes his usual train home and takes the tube into the middle of the city. Barney’s, it turns out, is the name of the cafe with the offensive teacups, which apparently stays open late on a Friday night. Because God forbid those who work on week-days should miss out on the horrific spectacle that is their novelty mugs.  
  
“I thought you said we wouldn’t have to deal with these things again,” Arthur said, eyeing the shop window with distaste.  
  
“I said nothing of the sort,” Gwaine replies, grinning. “Anyway, we’re not going inside. My mate’s flat is only a few blocks away from here, so it makes a good meeting spot. Hard to forget these beauties, don’t you think?”  
  
“Unfortunately,” Arthur mutters under his breath. Gwaine ignores him and sets off down the street, obviously familiar with the route. Arthur has no choice but to follow.

 

+

  
  
Whoever Gwaine’s friends are, they don’t exactly live in the best part of town, and Arthur hovers a little nervously by the other man’s shoulder as he waits for Gwaine to unlock the door to the flat. Apparently, he has a spare key, and Arthur can’t help wondering if he’s being led into a trap. Just how _does_ Gwaine know these people, anyway?  
  
“Welcome to Minas Tirith,” Gwaine says finally, pushing the door open with a flourish. “Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.”  
  
Arthur raises his eyebrows a little—he’s not sure that particular literary reference really bodes well—but steps inside after him, aware of what sounds like an intense gun battle going on somewhere down the hall. Raising his voice to be heard over the simulated artillery fire, Gwaine calls out loudly, “Hey, Ellie! We’re here!”  
  
There’s an explosion and a lot of swearing, then a few moments later a tall, dark-haired man with wireless headphones pushed up onto his head steps into the hall, wiping his hands on his jeans.  
  
“I told you not to call me that,” he tells Gwaine, but his eyes are on Arthur. “Hi. I’m Elyan,” he says, flashing white teeth in a friendly smile. “You must be the bloke who was looking for Gwen. She’s in the kitchen.”  
  
“Gwen?” Arthur mouths, as he and Gwaine follow Elyan down the corridor. “I thought you said you knew the right _guy_ for the job.”  
  
“Figure of speech,” Gwaine says airily, hooking an arm around Arthur’s shoulders. “Don’t be sexist, Princess. I promise you, Gwen is the best there is. The hottest, too.”  
  
“Really not sure _I’m_ the one being sexist here,” Arthur mutters, but he allows himself to be towed further into the dingy apartment, wondering just what he has gotten himself into.  
  
The girl in the kitchen—Gwen— _looks_ inoffensive enough at least, her short, curly hair pulled back from her face in a low ponytail, glasses perched almost primly on the edge of her nose. There are papers strewn on the kitchen table around her, and she looks kind of—well. Bookish. Pretty. Not the sort of person Arthur would have expected to be a secret criminal mastermind.  
  
“Hello, Gwen darling,” Gwaine says, swooping down to give her a smacking kiss on the cheek. “You got my text, yes? I have someone here who would like to pick that magnificent brain of yours. He can pay, I promise.”  
  
“As long as you can do what I need you to do,” Arthur adds, with a quelling look at Gwaine. He holds out a hand to Gwen. “Hi. I’m Arthur.”  
  
“Gwen.” She doesn’t shake it, giving Arthur a quick once-over before raising her eyebrows and glancing over at Gwaine instead. “If he can pay, then I suppose I can provide. What do you need?”  
  
Annoyed by this dismissal, Arthur lets Gwaine explain the problem, tuning them both out when it devolves into a heated discussion about exactly how much labour will be involved and what that ought to cost. He hasn’t exactly told Gwaine as much, but money is really no object; it’s his father’s company on the line, after all, not to mention his friendship with Merlin, and he puts rather a higher value on the latter than the former. Still, the back and forth haggling and occasional fond insult is reassuring; he had been worried for a moment that Gwaine was involved with the girl, but from the sounds of it they are merely old friends.  
  
“…and that’s my final offer,” Gwen says firmly, pushing her glasses back up her nose with one finger. “And it’s only because it’s you that I’m willing to do it for so little.”  
  
“Aw, Gwennie, I’m touched.” Gwaine puts a hand over his heart. “You’re a peach. A ripe, succulent—”  
  
“Gwaine,” Gwen warns, although she’s laughing. Arthur decides that he likes her, prickliness notwithstanding. “Stop flirting with me in front of your boyfriend. It’s rude.”  
  
“ _Him_?” Gwaine yelps, just as Arthur exclaims, “Us!?”  
  
“We’re not together,” Arthur says, narrowing his eyes at Gwaine. “Nor will we ever be, God willing. It’s—a favour for a friend.”  
  
“Oh. I’m sorry.” For the first time, Gwen looks a little flustered. “I open my mouth, words come out, sometimes this isn’t a good thing.”  
  
“It’s fine,” Gwaine says magnanimously. “I’m sure Arthur’s flattered.”  
  
Gwen rolls her eyes, and in spite of himself, Arthur grins at her. She smiles tentatively back. “Anyway, it shouldn’t be too difficult to do what you’re asking. I can take care of the technical part, but I’m not sure about convincing your coworkers.”  
  
“I had some thoughts on that,” Arthur says, grateful to be included in the planning at last. He sits down opposite her and takes a deep breath, lacing his hands on the table like he does when negotiating with a difficult client. “Let me tell you what I need you to do.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Arthur arrives at work on Monday filled with nervous anticipation. He’s not about to admit it to anyone—least of all to Morgana, who has been giving him suspicious looks across the office all morning—but were it not for the fact that so much is at stake, he would actually be kind of enjoying himself right now. For the first time since he’d started working for Uther, it feels like he’s actually making a difference, accomplishing something more than just making money for the firm. And it feels good.  
  
When the appointed hour rolls around, he makes sure to be seated casually at his desk, flipping through a handful of folders as though looking for something in particular. In reality, he’s waiting for Gwen, who had assured him that she would be there at 12:30pm on the dot. He’s not entirely sure he can trust to her punctuality, but sure enough, a few minutes after 12:25—Arthur may or may not have been obsessively checking his watch—there are voices in the foyer, and George bustles into Arthur’s office with his usual fussy little knock on the open door.  
  
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr Pendragon,” he says, sounding harassed. “But there’s a young lady in the lobby who insists on seeing you immediately. I told her you were not to be disturbed, but she claims—”  
  
“Send her through, George,” Arthur interrupts, and George’s face freezes into an expression of shocked disapproval.  
  
“But, sir—your two o’clock—”  
  
“—will have to be pushed back. This meeting is important,” Arthur tells him, loud enough for the words to carry to the hall outside. George opens his mouth to protest once more, and Arthur takes a moment to wish that Merlin were here— _Merlin_ would have already guessed that Arthur had been waiting for this very client all day—before he reiterates more firmly, “George. Send her in.”  
  
“Yes, sir.” Lips pursed, George turns on his heel and marches out of the room, and shortly afterwards he returns with Gwen in tow—albeit a very different Gwen from the one Arthur had met a few days ago.  
  
Dressed in a scandalously short sundress made from floating black and white lace, with her hair done up and her eyes concealed behind a pair of huge black sunglasses, she looks every inch a wealthy young socialite, and not at all the sort of woman that one usually expected to find gracing the halls of Pendragon Enterprises. Arthur can see heads turning to follow her as she walks, and he gets up to greet her, unconsciously smoothing the non-existent wrinkles from his shirt before taking her proffered hand.  
  
“Miss Smith,” he says, smiling at her. “A pleasure.”  
  
“I’m sure.” Even her voice is different, haughty and disdainful. “Your assistant seemed to think that you were busy. Shall I come back another time?”  
  
“Of course not. Please, come in.”  
  
Arthur ushers her inside and closes the door, glancing over her shoulder to see half of his employees quickly pretending to be looking in the other direction. The rest of them are openly staring, including Morgana. Grinning, Arthur closes the door.  
  
“I'm pretty sure that got their attention,” he says, sitting back down behind his desk. “Well done. You’re a natural.”  
  
Gwen smiles. “I did a lot of theatre back in uni,” she says, settling into the chair opposite him. “I enjoyed it. It’s nice to have the chance to brush up on some of my old skills.”  
  
“As opposed to some of your new ones?” Arthur raises his eyebrows. “I did some digging after I left your flat the other night. You’ve got quite an impressive rap sheet for—well.” He doesn’t want to say a _girl_ , but— “For someone your age.”  
  
Her smile fades, and her expression cools noticeably. “Whatever you’re going to ask, Mr Pendragon, the answer is no,” she says in a tight voice. “No, I am not a criminal; no, I’m not trying to scam you or your company; and no, I don’t want to talk about it.” Her cheeks are a deep red, but she meets his gaze squarely, her mouth set. “This is a business arrangement, so let’s keep things strictly professional, shall we?”  
  
Arthur studies her for a moment, but finally he nods.  
  
“I trust Gwaine,” he says. “Or rather, I don’t really have much of a choice _but_ to trust Gwaine, so I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt. Gwaine has assured me that your methods are strictly legal and will be absolutely above board, which is really all I need to know.”  
  
“Good.” She glances back over at the door, the teeth chewing at her lower lip the only sign of what she’s feeling. “How long do these meetings usually last, anyway?”  
  
“That depends on the content,” Arthur says. “But usually not very long. I say we give it until five past one and then I’ll show you to the door.”  
  
“All right.” She uncrosses her long legs and pulls Arthur’s legal pad across his desk, smiling at him determinedly. “How about a game of hangman while we wait?”  


 

  
+

  
  
Morgana pounces on Arthur as soon as Gwen leaves, her gaze alight with curiosity.  
  
“What was all that about?” she asks, following him back into his office without bothering to close the door. “And who was that woman you were talking to? I could swear I’ve seen her somewhere before.”  
  
“She’s a friend of Vivian Alined’s,” Arthur lies smoothly, trotting out the story that he and Gwen had concocted the week before. He keeps his attention focused on the files on his desk, not wanting to give Morgana the chance to look too closely at his face. He still feels a little guilty for lying to her, especially since he knows she wants to help Merlin as much as he does, but he and Gwaine had agreed that the fewer people who know about their plan the better. “Her father died recently and she’s looking to offload some of his assets. Mr Alined was kind enough to send her in our direction.”  
  
“So she’s a client.”  
  
“Well, yes.” Arthur raises a brow and glances up at her. “What else would she be?”  
  
Morgana shakes her head, but her eyes are narrowed thoughtfully as she stares at him. “You’re up to something,” she says, pointing a finger at him. “I know that look.”  
  
Arthur rolls his eyes. “I’m ‘up to’ negotiating a contract. A very lucrative one, in fact,” he adds, lowering his voice and looking meaningfully at the open door. “I’ll send it over to you later so you can see what I mean.”  
  
Morgana’s eyes widen—he can see he's piqued her interest. “ _Really_ ,” she says, glancing at the clock above Arthur’s desk. “You’re lucky I’m late for lunch, or I’d make you tell me everything right now. As it is, I want to hear all the details as soon as I get back.”  
  
“Of course,” Arthur agrees, smirking. “I would hate for you to keep dear Morgause waiting.”  
  
Interestingly, that makes Morgana’s cheeks turn pink. “Shut up,” she says tightly, before turning on her heel and sweeping off out the door.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for CD Prompts #333 (eerie) and #334 (apparition).

 Arthur spends the rest of the day putting their plan into action. Since the goal is for him to make Gwen’s company seem like an unmissable opportunity, he is careful to ‘let slip’ a few pertinent details in front of each of their suspects, hoping to lure them into seeking out further information. It’s not exactly a challenging job—pretty much everyone is curious after Gwen’s less-than-subtle appearance earlier—but he still finds himself with the beginnings of a headache by the time he’s finished, his temples pounding as he tries to keep all the lies straight inside his head. He has no idea how people manage to do this kind of thing on a regular basis; being a spy is kind of hard.  
  
“How will you know who’s responsible, though?” Gwen had asked, when Arthur and Gwaine went through that part of the plan with her. “I mean, don’t they all have access to the same server?”  
  
“Technically, yes,” Arthur admitted. “But the innocent parties should have no reason to access the file, even though they have the requisite clearance. They’ll all have slightly different information about the company, and whoever leaks the data to Essetir will likely tell them as much about your background as they can, so that plus the server log should help us determine which one is our culprit.”  
  
“Sounds a bit flimsy to me,” Gwen said, but when Arthur frowned at her she held up her hands in defeat. “I’m not saying I won’t do it! I’m just saying, you’re relying an awful lot on luck at this point. Don’t be surprised if it turns out to be more difficult than you think.”  
  
“We’re not trying to convict someone beyond reasonable doubt,” Gwaine said, clapping Arthur on the shoulder and ignoring the resultant scowl. “With luck, we’ll be able to convince His Royal Douchiness that Merlin is innocent and get the real mole fired, which is pretty much all we’re aiming for here.”  
  
Arthur had agreed with him at the time, albeit against his better judgment, but now that the operation is actually underway he can’t help feeling anxious. What if his performance hadn’t been convincing enough? What if there’s something wrong with the file Gwen put together, or an error on the website that could give them away? Gwaine had assured him Gwen was the best and could pull off something like this in her sleep, but even professionals make mistakes, and Arthur isn’t sure he’s comfortable risking Merlin’s entire future—not to mention his reputation and possibly his spotless criminal record—on a plan that is starting to feel progressively half-baked. At least he’ll have Gwaine to blame if it all goes wrong.  
  
By the time he has finished laying the groundwork, it’s almost mid-afternoon, and Arthur heads back to his office in the hopes of getting some actual work done over the remainder of the day. It’s easier said than done, however, and he soon finds himself drumming his fingers on his desktop as he refreshes the bogus website for the thousandth time. For a moment, his heart jumps as he sees that the hit counter has increased—then he realises that it’s probably because he’s been visiting it so often. He sighs. He’s known from the beginning that the plan will take time to come off, if indeed it does at all, yet here he is poring over the damn thing like the trap could be sprung at any moment. It’s getting ridiculous.  
  
He’s just decided that he needs to find a distraction—preferably before he goes completely insane—when he catches sight of his sister’s reflection in the monitor, her pale face looming up behind him like an apparition. Her hand closes on his shoulder a moment later, making him jump half out of his skin.  
  
“Jesus Christ, Morgana, learn to knock,” Arthur blurts, swearing loudly. He hurriedly closes the window on his desktop before she can see what he’s been looking at. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”  
  
“Why, were you looking at porn again?” Smiling sunnily, Morgana squeezes his shoulder before letting go and settling herself in the seat opposite, adjusting the hem of her skirt as she sits down. “I suppose you have to do something now that Merlin isn’t around for you to harass. Although—”  
  
“Don’t even start,” Arthur says firmly, pointing a finger at his sister. “I do not harass my assistants, especially not Merlin, and for the last time, that _wasn’t_ _porn_. It was a pop-up ad.”  
  
“If you say so.” Morgana’s eyebrows are arched, and he can practically see her weighing up whether to pursue this uncharacteristic behaviour or return to whatever it was she had come in for. Arthur makes the decision for her.  
  
“What are you doing here, anyway?” he asks, turning away to fiddle with some of the folders on his desk. He’d stolen them from the filing cabinet while George wasn’t looking, and fully intends to put them back in the wrong order as soon as his assistant is in the lavatory. “I thought you and Morgause were playing hooky this afternoon. Didn’t you say something about a sale at Harrods…?”  
  
“Funny, but no.” Morgana rolls her eyes, although there’s something unsettled about her expression as she goes on. “She had to leave early, and I had a brother to interrogate.” She crosses her legs and leans back, steepling her hands in her lap and looking at him expectantly. “So? Guinevere Smith? Morgause has never heard of her, and I thought she knew all of Vivian Alined’s friends.”  
  
Shit. Arthur hadn’t been expecting that. “Well…” he hedges, wondering whether to come clean or double down on the lie. Morgana eyes him narrowly.  
  
“She’s not Vivian’s friend at all, is she?” she asks, her gaze shrewd, and Arthur curses under his breath. It’s actually kind of eerie the way she can read his mind.  
  
“All right, fine,” he says, deciding he’s just going to have to wing it. “She’s more like…an acquaintance. Actually, they hate each other.”  
  
“Ha! I knew it,” Morgana crows, shaking her head. “She didn’t seem like the Princess Barbie type, deep down. So, how did she end up coming here, then? I can’t imagine Alined recommended us to her if his precious Vivi hates her so much.”  
  
“It was actually pure coincidence,” Arthur says, shrugging his shoulders. “She overheard her father talking about us with one of his business partners, so she thought she’d come to us first. I thought passing her off as one of Vivian’s friends might quell some of the gossip. I didn’t want the word to get around.”  
  
It’s a flimsy lie, but it’s the best he can do at short notice, and fortunately she seems to buy it. He fields the rest of her questions as best he can, promising to send her a copy of the finalised contract in a few weeks. He won’t, of course, since hopefully by that time there will be no need, but it’s his job to bait the hook and technically Morgana _is_ on their list of suspects.  
  
Now all he has to do is wait for one of them to bite.


	5. Chapter 5

 

“I thought you’d want to know as soon as possible,” Gwen tells him a few days later, looking up at Arthur as he leans over her shoulder. They’re back in her brother’s flat once more, her laptop open on the kitchen table as she points to something on the screen. “I’ve been tracking their progress for a while now. They’ve nearly broken through our security already.”  
  
“You mean—they’re trying to hack the website?” Arthur asks, peering at the lines of code streaming across the monitor. He’s never been very good with computers, and not for the first time he wishes they’d been able to bring Merlin in on the whole scheme. He has a knack for explaining these things in a way that actually makes sense. “Why?”  
  
“We think they’re trying to gain access to the company’s accounts,” Gwaine says, appearing in the doorway with a coffee mug in hand. “Either that, or they suspect a trap and want to make sure the place is legit before they make their move.”  
  
“So…they’re onto us,” Arthur surmises, his heart sinking.  
  
“Not necessarily. I don’t think they’d be showing this level of interest if they were sure that the company was a fake.” Gwen tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear, already absorbed in whatever it is that is happening onscreen. “It could be that they’re just doing their homework. Quite illegally, of course,” she adds, pulling her keyboard closer and tapping out a few strings of unintelligible symbols. “But that’s big business for you; all money and no morals. I mean—not all of them, obviously. Present company excepted!”  
  
Gwaine snorts at this, but Arthur just shakes his head. “So what do we do about it, then?” he asks. “Do we just…wait and hope they go away, or what?”  
  
“Oh, no!” Gwen sounds surprised. “I’ve planned for this. As soon as they gain access to the company server, they’ll realise that the files are all encrypted. Unbreakable code, on account of it being total gibberish. I'm sure they’ll have some fun trying to figure things out before giving up and getting in touch the old-fashioned way.”  
  
“Told you she was good,” Gwaine tells Arthur, smirking, and Arthur is forced to agree.  
  
It’s only been a couple of days since they put their plan into effect, but it seems to have taken forever to reach this point. This is the first proof they’ve had that their quarry has been paying attention, and he hopes it means they’re finally on the brink of unravelling this whole mess. Gwen certainly seems to think so, anyway, if her enthusiasm is anything to go by; she’s watching the monitor with rapt attention, occasionally letting out a vague “hmm” sound as something interesting catches her eye.  
  
“So,” Arthur ventures, after several minutes pass. “How long before—”  
  
Gwen holds up a hand, silencing him, and a split second later her newly acquired ‘company phone’ begins to ring.  
  
“Forget I asked,” Arthur mouths, as Gwen hits the speaker button.  
  
“Guinevere Smith.”  
  
“Ms Smith, I’m glad I caught you.” The woman’s voice on the other end is rich and warm, and it sounds vaguely familiar, although Arthur can’t quite place it. “This is Catrina Edgecombe, from Essetir Industries. How are you today?”  
  
“Extremely busy, Ms Edgecrumb,” Gwen says coolly. Gwaine grins at her from across the table. “May I inquire as to why you are calling?”  
  
“We here at Essetir Industries wanted to extend our condolences on the death of your father,” Catrina says. “Such a terrible loss. He was a great man. We were hoping to speak with you about the future of his company—at your convenience, of course. I’m sure you want his legacy to be treated with the respect it deserves.”  
  
Arthur raises his eyebrows, lifting his gaze to meet Gwaine’s equally startled eyes. He has to hand it to the woman—she certainly doesn’t waste any time.  
  
“I’m afraid I don’t know if that would be appropriate, Ms Edgeblum.” Gwen examines her nails. “My father made his wishes very clear, and I’ve already taken advice as to what to do with his assets.”  
  
“Of course.” Catrina Edgecombe’s patter doesn’t falter. “But I know an intelligent young woman such as yourself must be keen to explore all the options available. Why don’t you come in for a meeting sometime—purely informal, of course—and we can have a chat about some of the possibilities?”  
  
Gwen makes a show of hemming and hawing, but finally she agrees and sets up an appointment for the following week. Gwaine lets out a triumphant whoop as soon as she hangs up, leaning over the table to kiss her on the cheek. “We’ve got them now! Gwennie, you were brilliant.”  
  
“I was so rude,” Gwen says, flushing a bright red. “My father must be turning in his grave to hear me talking to someone like that.”  
  
“You did an excellent job,” Arthur reassures her. “And it’s for a good cause. Gwaine’s right—we should have everything we need to figure out who our mole is, now.”  
  
That seems to distract her from her embarrassment, because her face lights up. “So, you know who’s been leaking the information, then?”  
  
“Well, not definitively.” Arthur pulls out his own laptop and logs in, accessing the company server with a few clicks on his trackpad. “I’ll need to check the security log to be sure.”  
  
“Okay, but then you’ll know who did it, right?” Coming around the table, Gwaine hangs over Arthur’s shoulder, leaning obnoxiously into his personal space. Irritated, Arthur elbows him out of the way, bringing up the security files with his free hand and running a search for the relevant data. It only takes a few moments for him to scan the list in front of him.  
  
“That can’t be right,” he says. He refreshes the screen, but the log remains the same, taunting him with its unchangeability: only one remote ID from Pendragon Enterprises has gained access to Gwen’s file over the last week, and it’s one he knows almost as well as his own. “That’s impossible.”  
  
“What’s impossible?” Gwaine peers closer again, but Arthur shuts his laptop with a snap before the other man can read anything further.  
  
“Nothing. It’s nothing,” he says, getting to his feet. “Listen, I just remembered—I have to go.”  
  
“What?” Startled, Gwaine stares at him. “But—you haven’t told us who it was yet!”  
  
Arthur doesn’t break stride, grabbing his jacket as he heads out of the flat. “I’ll be in touch,” he calls over his shoulder. “Thanks for all your help!”  
  
He’s pretty sure he can hear Gwaine shouting after him—something not very complimentary about his social skills, or possibly his mother—but he ignores it, taking the stairs back to the ground floor two at a time. The laptop bangs heavily against his side, feeling as though it has recently gained about twenty pounds. There has to be some other explanation for what it said, although at this point he’s not sure what it could be. All he knows is that he has to talk to Merlin about it, and soon. For both of their sakes.

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

Arthur texts Merlin as soon as he gets off the tube, but receives no response. After knocking on the door of his flat and being similarly ignored, he pulls out his spare key and lets himself in quietly. Merlin has told him more than once that he’s welcome anytime, but this is the first time in recent memory that Arthur has had occasion to test that statement. He tries not to feel too much like an intruder.  
  
“Hey, Merlin, are you home?” he calls, stopping in the middle of the living room. The blinds are still drawn, which is unusual for this time of day, and the place smells faintly of alcohol. “Merlin!”  
  
He hears a faint groan coming from the vicinity of Merlin’s bedroom, and makes a beeline for the doorway, only to stop short at the sight that greets him. Merlin is buried so far beneath his duvet that only his hair is showing, looking like the rumpled fur of an extremely startled black cat. As Arthur watches, he rolls over towards the door, covering his head with a pillow as if he fully intends to go straight back to sleep.  
  
“Oh no you don’t,” Arthur says loudly, crossing over to the window. Ignoring Merlin’s feeble protests, he yanks open the curtains, then picks up a pair of discarded jeans from the floor and chucks them at Merlin’s head. “Let’s have you, lazy daisy,” he says, feeling a little lightheaded at being in the same room as his best friend for the first time in weeks. “Time’s a-wasting. You can’t lay about in bed all day, we have work to do.”  
  
“Arthur?” Merlin blinks at him blearily. “What are you doing here? What time is it? Oh god, has someone died?”  
  
“It’s twelve thirty on a Thursday afternoon,” Arthur says, watching with a mixture of amusement and concern as Merlin drags himself into a sitting position, looking like he’d barely survived an encounter with a cement truck. “Which is a stupid time for you to be hungover, by the way. What _have_ you been doing?”  
  
“Updating my CV,” Merlin retorts at once, proving that he can’t be that badly off if he’s still capable of some form of repartee, “since it looks like I’m going to be out of a job for the foreseeable future. Seriously, Arthur, what are you doing here?”  
  
“I have to talk to you,” Arthur says, some of his giddiness subsiding as he recalls the reason for his visit. “It’s important.”  
  
“Okay.” Merlin narrows his eyes and doesn’t move. “So talk.”  
  
“Get dressed first,” Arthur says, shaking his head. The last thing he needs right now is a half-naked Merlin distracting him, no matter how attractive the sight may be. “And maybe drink some coffee. I have a feeling you’re going to want to be awake for this.”  
  
Maybe his serious tone gets through to Merlin, or maybe Merlin has finally regained consciousness enough to realise the gravity of the situation, Arthur doesn’t know. Either way, however, he stares at Arthur for a long moment before sitting up with a groan.  
  
“Fine, you win,” he grumbles, turning back the covers. Arthur exhales in relief, then promptly chokes on his own spit as Merlin slides out of bed wearing only his boxers. “Give me a couple of minutes to shower and grab some breakfast, then I’m all yours.”  
  
_If only_ , Arthur thinks, watching him go, then flees to the kitchen to make coffee.  


 

  
+

  
  
“This is about the investigation, isn’t it?” Merlin asks half an hour later, sitting down at the table across from Arthur and digging into his breakfast. His hair is still damp from the shower, and he’s looking a little green around the edges, but his eyes are bright and alert as he meets Arthur’s gaze. “Did they find out who did it?”  
  
“In a manner of speaking.” Arthur pulls out his laptop and logs in, turning the monitor so that Merlin can see it properly. “According to our computer logs, this is the person who has been leaking our files to Essetir.”  
  
Merlin stares at the screen for a moment, then looks back at Arthur. “You can’t be serious.”  
  
“Unfortunately, I am. We came up with a fake company and a lucrative potential client to tempt our mole into revealing themselves, and this was the result. You recognise the ID, of course.”  
  
“I ought to,” Merlin says bitterly, “seeing as it’s mine. But Arthur, I swear to you I didn’t—”  
  
“I believe you,” Arthur says, cutting him off. Merlin shuts his mouth with a snap. “But my father won’t, if he sees this—not without serious proof to the contrary, anyway. In his eyes, you’re still a relative newcomer to the company, and he’s not going to trust your word when all the facts say you’ve sold us out.”  
  
“So, what then?” Merlin has put down his fork and is no longer eating, his expression unreadable. “Did you come here to fire me? Am I supposed to resign gracefully and devote myself to a life in retail?”  
  
“As if I’d let that happen,” Arthur scoffs, and he is rewarded by the faintest of smiles crossing Merlin’s lips. “No, I’m here because I think there’s something else going on. As well as setting up the files, I put about several different stories regarding the means by which our ‘client’ acquired the company. The idea was that when Essetir contacted them about the sale, they would have heard a slightly different version of the facts depending on which person was behind the leak.”  
  
“Kind of like a verbal tracking signature,” Merlin says, looking interested. He sits forward, something like hope rekindling in his eyes. “Does that mean you can identify the mole?”  
  
“That’s why I came to you,” Arthur says, shutting the laptop lid and regarding Merlin seriously. “I’m not sure about the whys and wherefores of the whole thing yet, but based on what we know, I’m pretty sure that it’s my sister.”


End file.
